Review
"This paranormal tale had great writing, an awesome setting, interesting and well developed characters, and a gripping story line." Hayley, Goodreads ★★★★★
"The ending is shocking and crazy. You really need to jump on this one now!!" Read All About It, Goodreads ★★★★★
"When I say that I flew through this book, I am not exaggerating. I did not sleep until this book was done!" Michelle, Goodreads ★★★★★
"I absolutely loved this book!!" Mary, Goodreads ★★★★★
"Such a good book! I love the way the characters all connect with each other and you really grow to love them all, especially Heather!!" Katrina, Goodreads ★★★★★
"It contains partnership, suspense, action, thrilling and danger moments from the first to the last page." Juliana, Goodreads ★★★★★
"Wow! Grave Lies: A Psychic Investigator Mystery is a thriller that throws multiple curve balls!" Lynda, Goodreads ★★★★★
"I was so drawn into the story that when I reached the end of the book I wanted more. I can only wait for the next book in this series with anticipation." Josette, Goodreads ★★★★★
"I loved this book, really well written and captured the reader's imagination." Caroline, Goodreads ★★★★★
From the Author
Excerpt from GRAVE LIES:
Heather Davenport still thought of the house in Coldwater, Wyoming as her grandmother's, even though she now lived in it herself. She looked out the kitchen window at the fields, which were dusted with yesterday's snowfall.
Never would've thought I'd end things here, she thought. But it fits. Doesn't it?
The dull ache in her head served as an ever-present reminder of why she'd moved to this place. But the pain was mild today. That probably meant she should be productive, go into town to pick up supplies and check her box at the post office.
She'd been living in Coldwater for two months now. Her fellow agents at the Cheyenne FBI office weren't calling as much, and her cases had been taken over by colleagues. She hadn't told them exactly why she'd needed a leave of absence. Just hinted that it was health-related. They'd been respectful, though no doubt they were curious. She was in her early forties but could've passed for thirty-five, except perhaps for the frown lines around her mouth.
By now, everyone in the office had to know that something wasn't right. There would be paperwork if she made her early retirement official. But jumping through those administrative hoops didn't interest her. She had more important things to do.
The old wooden cabin was out of sight from her current vantage point, but she still visualized it in her mind. Its rusty metal roof would be blanketed by a thin layer of snow this morning. A monument to the two souls who'd been discovered there over thirty years before.
Because of their wedding rings and young ages, the officers investigating the case had taken to calling them the "bride and groom," and for Heather, the moniker stuck. She had no other names to call them.
That cabin served as a monument to Heather's career, too. A reminder of the single moment that had shaped her identity. The case that no one had been able to solve.
But I'm not out of time yet, she thought. A rock had lodged in her throat. She breathed through the sorrow, willing it to pass.
The pain, she could get through. But that bottomless despair? If she let it rise to the surface, it would drown her.
Heather's phone rang. When she'd moved out here, she'd switched cell phone carriers to one that got reliable service.
It was Michael Novak, the Coldwater chief of police. "Chief, what can I do for you?" she asked.
"Morning, Heather. How are you today?"
Chief Novak knew that she had health issues, though not the full extent. "I can't complain." Heather had always kept her emotions close, as if she'd be giving away some essential part of herself if she revealed too much.
On bad days, the headaches were downright debilitating. They'd been coming more and more frequently. Her options were few. She could either try to think through the pain, even though it jabbed at the inside of her skull like a thresher churning through wheat, or she could take one of those magic little pills she had in her cabinet and check out from the world for a while. But her supply was dwindling, and doctors were getting touchier about writing opioid scrips these days. Even for someone with an inoperable brain tumor.
"Is there a reason you're calling?"
Novak laughed. "Always quick to the point. I hear your order's ready at the market. Thought I'd check and see if you needed one of my boys to drive it out to you."
The chief had two teenage sons, both of them football players at Coldwater High and checkout clerks at the grocery. They sometimes did chores on her property and ran errands for her, always refusing payment. Heather knew it was because Chief Novak had a soft spot for her. He'd mentioned his divorce in passing more than once, making sure she was aware.
At forty-five, Michael had a few years on her. He was handsome, still in trim shape, always ready with a kind word. Yet she felt too old for him, even setting aside the brain tumor. Heather might pass for younger, but she'd felt older than her years for a long time. Perhaps ever since she and Speckles had discovered that shallow grave in the cabin way back in '88.
Not all kids would've been so affected. She'd overheard multiple psychologists telling her parents that kids bounced back from all sorts of traumas. Maybe her inner psyche simply wasn't the bouncy sort. But she suspected it was the tinkling laugh she'd heard in the fields that day. The girl that laugh belonged to hadn't known what terrible things the world had in store.
From the day Heather had discovered those bodies, she had known. She'd understood far more than a child should have to about cruel reality. She'd never married, never even thought of having kids, as if she'd always known a shocking twist ending would cut short her life. It was a tumor instead of murder, a slower race to the end, but a sudden end all the same.
"That's a thoughtful offer, Chief, but there's no need. I'll make it to town today." This was just the motivation she needed to get off her behind and move around. Otherwise, she would go stir-crazy when the next spring snowstorm came through, which could happen anytime until April had passed. Sometimes even May.
"Any news on your cold case?"
"Nothing from the genealogy sites."
"That's disappointing."
Back in 2014, a private group had funded the exhumation of the bride and groom for DNA testing. They were a group of amateur investigators, devoted to investigating unsolved cases. Heather had gotten in touch after reading articles about their efforts. But neither the bride's nor the groom's DNA had been linked to any living individuals so far.
"What are you going to try next? I can't imagine you're out of ideas."
"Not yet, but I'm reaching the bottom of the barrel."
She tried to put levity into her voice, as if she were only joking. She'd even gone so far as contacting a group of psychics, people who spoke to ghosts. The "Mercury Group," they called themselves. Heather had firsthand knowledge that ghosts were real, yet she'd always steered clear of people who tried to use the supernatural to solve cases. The vast majority of crimes had a perfectly ordinary explanation and needed only real-world police work to solve them.
With this case, she was willing to try just about anything. But the Mercury Group hadn't even responded to her inquiry.
"Maybe you could tell me sometime why the case means so much to you," Chief Novak said.
"Maybe."
"What about over dinner? I could bring those groceries to you myself, plus a pizza from Jenny's Bistro. Or have you tried her pasta yet?"
Heather wondered if she should just put the poor man out of his misery and tell him she'd be dead in a few months, and that her headaches didn't do much for her libido. But she couldn't stand the thought of him pitying her.
"Another time," she said. "I'd better run."
"All right. Don't be a stranger."
After she hung up, she glanced out the window again at the snow-whitened field.
Why did this case matter so much?
It had been the rings on those skeletal fingers. That innocent laugh like a wind chime. It was the ghostly couple she still saw dashing across the fields on moonlit nights, hand in hand. She didn't know if they'd been running away from something terrible or toward the promise of something better. All she knew was how it ended.
Those two souls deserved more. Heather wasn't sure if anyone would remember her long after she was gone, but at least she could remember the bride and groom. She could give them back their names.
At times, she wondered if their killer still remembered them, too. If the person responsible might even be in Coldwater right now, living secure in the belief that their secret was long forgotten.
Heather had no intention of forgetting. Not until her last breath had passed.
Her phone rang. She thought it might be Chief Novak again, but the screen showed a different number.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Davenport?" said an unfamiliar woman's voice on the other end. "My name is Penny Wright."
